Silly, Silly Book Series: Philosopher's Stone
by iheartmwpp
Summary: Because no matter how much we may love it, nothing is without flaws. Contains mostly nitpicking, the occasional funny aside, and an in-depth questioning of some of the actions made by the supposedly responsible authority figures of Hogwarts.


_A/N: So the week before I start posting the final book parody thing and finish making fun of Harry Potter once and for all, thought I'd give putting this back up on ff dot net a try. The absolutely minuscule song reference that it was deleted for in the first place has been removed, plus another bit that was IN THE BOOK and I'm just that paranoid now, and I edited a bit, but if anyone's interested in the stuff I got rid of or whatever the full version can still be found on Archive Of Our Own dot org under the same profile name and fic name and everything else. It's also home to everything else that's been deleted from here, and will continue to be the home of everything else that I'm sure will also soon be deleted from here for whatever reason. I AM SO OPTIMISTIC AT ALL OF THE TIMES YOU GUYS._

**Disclaimer:** I own two separate copies if _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_. One is hardcover and the other is paperback. I also own a paperback copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone that a wonderful friend bought for me on her trip to Ireland. Where she saw the Phelps twins and Evanna Lynch. I still don't really know whether I love her or hate her. However, I didn't write any of it. Oh and Pokeymanz is a thing and _Silent Hill_ is a thing and _Monty Python's Life of Brian_ is also a thing and _Dragonball Z Abridged _is also a thing. Mahogany.

* * *

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map. Clearly he was not familiar with the behavior of cats, because just because a cat is looking at a book it does not mean it is reading it. It will jump up onto the bed or table, look at the book, sniff at it, and then rub its face along the side several times until one shoos it away. If it is looking at a piece of paper, it will stare at it intently before pawing at it and playing with it. Just because Teddy jumped onto iheartmwpp's lap and faced the general direction of the TV without looking away or blinking for several minutes does not mean he was watching _Firefly_ with her.

Then again, she could be picturing this all wrong, and McGonagall could've been sitting on the side of the road and have her front legs raised and gripping the map as if it was an open newspaper, but iheart never saw Animagi as working like that and always assumed that the map was on the ground and she was looking down at it. Cats do that. They're weird. It's not that unusual for cats to be fucking weird.

For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen – then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. This could be further rationalized as the map having blown away in the wind or something. Mr. Dursley, the reader quickly learns, is a dumbass.

* * *

He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passerby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

"Muggle?" Mr. Dursley repeated, nonplussed. "What the hell is that, some kind of racial slur?"

"Oh no, of course not! It's just a term we use to describe a group of people who are different from us that is disrespectful and used without restraint!"

"…Which is basically the definition of a racial slur."

* * *

"Going to be anymore showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted—wait, Ted? As in Ted Tonks, perhaps? Was that ever confirmed or denied?"

"Hell if I know, but fans do like to think that. Though I personally think I have a better theory," said Ted.

"What's that?" asked Jim.

"That I'm actually Teddy Remus Lupin and you're actually James Sirius Potter and we're both from the future or something."

"Well wouldn't that just be the most epic thing in existence...The hell would we go back in time just to do Muggle news."

"DO NOT QUESTION THE AWESOME."

"We're still live, you idiots," said Ted's co-anchor. Scorpius Malfoy. Because again, why not.

* * *

Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and then came back to the other two. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw McGonagall glaring at him.

"What?" he said.

"You're not gonna knock on the door and physically talk to the Muggles?" McGonagall demanded incredulously.

"There's no need for us to disturb their sleep, Minerva," Dumbledore tried to say, but McGonagall was having none of it.

"So you're just going to leave a small baby alone on a doorstep in November?"

"Don't worry, the blankets should keep him warm enough—"

"And what if he rolls out of them? Furthermore, what if he wakes up, as babies are want to do? Most babies start to walk by the time they're nine months old, and Harry happens to be fifteen months. What if he gets up and starts walking around?"

"Good point," said Dumbledore, turning and pointing his wand at the sleeping infant. A soft purple haze surrounded Harry's head for a couple of seconds. "There, that should keep him asleep until morning," he said brightly.

"The news said it was going to rain tonight," McGonagall went on, deadpan.

"Oh that's always wrong and you know it."

"It's _Britain."_

"Shaddup."

* * *

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. This was slightly odd, since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia liked to keep up the appearance of being a normal family as much as possible, and yet there was evidence that one of the children in their care lived in a cupboard instead of a normal room. Evidence that even the most dim-witted of Dudley's friends might have picked up on and told someone about. Even if they thought it was a joke or that Harry deserved it, any responsible adult that they might've unintentionally blabbed to would've looked into the situation and would've been able to see that something was up. Maybe the Dursleys just figured that no one would believe any of the small children, or just think they were playing and locked Harry in a cupboard themselves as part of their game, especially since these books like to prove over and over again that adults are entirely useless whenever it matters most.

* * *

Harry picked the letter up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives – he didn't belong to the library so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back…Is that a UK only thing? I've had books out for weeks longer than I was supposed to without returning or renewing it and I never got a letter, a call, an email, or any notification of any kind, I just had to pay like six bucks and change when I finally gave 'em back. So…I don't get it.

* * *

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily. "It had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. His voice must've shaken the foundations of like the entire neighborhood or something, spiders are ridiculously clingy.

* * *

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering, I'm extremely afraid for the safety of myself and the part of the family I actually like, and I'm probably very trigger-happy and could shoot you way faster than you can take the gun away from me!"

"Children's book," Hagrid replied easily, reaching over the back of the sofa. He jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been bade of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

"…Bugger," muttered Uncle Vernon dejectedly.

* * *

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." We later find out that this is the incantation of the Tongue-Tying Curse. HOLY SHIT VERNON DURSLEY IS ACTUALLY A WIZARD.

* * *

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl – a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl that PETA shockingly didn't flip their shit over – a long quill and a roll of parchment. No ink, though, hopefully it was a self-inking quill and not one of Umbridge's quills. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note which Harry could read upside-down:

_Dear Mr. Dumbledore…Since when do I call yeh mister? Isn' it usually Professor? Weird…ANYWAY._

_Given Harry his letter. Guardians seem ter strongly object ter his goin' ter Hogwarts so I'm just kidnappin' him, I'm sure that won' come back ter bite us later. Takin' him ter buy his things tomorrow. Weather's horrible, hope you're well._

_Hagrid._

* * *

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd spent his life being clouted by Dudley and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he really was a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

…Why hadn't Vernon and Petunia been turned into warty toads every time they tried to lock him in his cupboard? Why could Dudley kick him around like a football? Isn't accidental magic supposed to kick in when you're angry or scared, wouldn't Harry be like permanently scared of his abusers, wouldn't something have happened to them?!

* * *

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER—" he thundered, "—INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley. Not at Vernon. At Dudley. Not at the person who actually said the harmful thing that got Hagrid so pissed, but at a completely innocent bystander. Hagrid's a dick. Who can perform nonverbal advanced Transfiguration after only two and a bit years of magical training with a busted wand. Yeah, that makes sense.

* * *

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," said Hagrid casually.

"Flew?!"

"Yeah, but we'll go back in this—"

"No, really, did you seriously fly here?" Harry cut him off, desperate to figure this out. "What, did you use a broom or something? How about a thestral, or a hippogriff, or an Abraxan? Or maybe you used Sirius's old motorbike or something—no, wait, none of those options are still here. Though I guess if you used one of the flying horses you could've just told them to go home. Seriously, though, which method did you use? You couldn't have actually flown on your own, otherwise it wouldn't have been so much of a surprise when Voldemort and Snape were flying about without any assistance. Did Dumbledore levitate you or have Fawkes carry you or something, it makes no sense! Unless you're yet another unregistered Animagus and can turn into a tiny little bluebird or something…which would be ridiculously ironic and hilarious, and yet somehow badass at the same time…"

"…So we're goin' back in this," said Hagrid, getting into the boat.

"You never answered my question!" Harry protested indignantly, but Hagrid ignored him. "Dick," he muttered under his breath.

"What was tha'?"

"Nothing, nothing…"

* * *

_Uniform_

_First-year students will require:_

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black, will be washed daily by house-elves so don't bother exceeding this number)_

_2. One plain pointed hat (black for day wear, this year only and afterwards you can burn them for all we care_

_…_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad. Not one of each, not even two, just the one. No dogs unless you're gamekeeper. MAYBE you can sneak a rat in, to be honest we don't really care much._

* * *

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!"

"How the hell did you find me?" asked Harry curiously. "I thought Dumbledore wanted me cut off from wizards entirely, and if you were able to get so near to me, how do I know that one of the people who seemed to know me weren't Dark wizards or something?"

"Er…" said Dedalus Diggle, desperately searching for a way out. "Oh look, it's You-Know-Who!"

"What?" said Hagrid. "No, that's just Professor Quirrell, yeh silly."

"…Right, I knew that."

* * *

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" Harry asked.

"School houses," said Hagrid. "There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, indicatin' that the entire house is worthless right from the get-go an' nothin' really shows otherwise except fer Cedric an' Tonks and they die off quickly so they don' exactly help. An' JKR was surprised when people didn' wanna get sorted into Hufflepuff on Pottermore. She really should've seen that comin', _she_ set it up like that."

* * *

They bough Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Which are either enchanted or are called journals/notebooks/diaries/whatever, not uncommonly found in bookstores at least in the US and Ginny certainly didn't seem surprised when turned up in her cauldron after VISITING THE FUCKING BOOKSTORE.

* * *

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand, mahogany being the only wood not mentioned on Pottermore for some reason." Mr. Ollivander's eyes started to glow ominously. "And not just any mahogany! But mahogany from the planet of Malchior Seven! Where the trees are three hundred feet tall and breathe fire! From these trees, that wand was forged two thousand years ago, using ancient blood rituals of the Malchior people. Not only does this make his wand nigh indestructible, but it can bend the fabric of the universe itself!" Mr. Ollivander instantly calmed down as Harry and Hagrid exchanged alarmed glances. "Also it's a very fine material. Very expensive."

Harry blinked.

"O…kay—"

"Mahogany."

* * *

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again…Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er – yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"Oh, well, that's no matter," said Mr. Ollivander, relieved. "After all, even if the wand's even partially broken, then it doesn't work properly anymore. Either it doesn't do what you wanted it to at all, it completely backfires, or it stops working entirely, depending on the damage."

"Er…" Hagrid muttered, shifting his eyes from side to side.

"Of course," Mr. Ollivander went on, almost to himself, "if you had the Elder Wand, or knew someone who was the master of it, and they tried fixing it, I suppose there's a chance it could work…" He shook his head, smiling to himself. "But what are the odds of that happening?"

"N-None whatsoever, sir," Hagrid agreed tremulously. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

* * *

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.

"…You went to Hogwarts for seven years," began a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand. "You probably went when your brothers where sent off, and you've gone through this with five kids now for Merlin knows how long."

"…Can't it be that I'm just flustered?" protested the mother.

"Nope, you're just feeding ammunition to the disturbingly large section of the fandom that is convinced that Dumbledore put you up to befriending Harry right from the get-go so he could exert his influence over the future father of my childrens."

"Huh. Poop."

* * *

"You never get anything new, either, with five brothers," Ron went on. "I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat. And Charlie's old wand confuses me. I don't even think it was even Charlie's, I think it's a hand-me-down from further back in the family, and once Charlie could finally afford his own damn wand it went back to being handed down to me." Ron's frown deepened. "It's not fair, you know? Percy gets new robes and a new pet, and I don't even get my own wand for my first year at Hogwarts."

"Good thing, really," Harry tried to comfort him. "If your actual wand was snapped by the Whomping Willow next year…"

"Yes, because my parents are psychic like that," Ron snapped, and Harry immediately changed the subject to Voldemort.

* * *

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry. When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor – you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavored one once."

"So…" Harry began, "blood?"

"Probably."

"Fecal matter? Urine?"

"I really hope not."

"…Other bodily fluids?"

"…You mean—"

"Yeah."

"Well at this point I wouldn't know if I tasted it, but again with the really hoping not."

* * *

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er – all right."

He cleared his throat.

_"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "It's not even Latin."

"Hold up," Harry cut in before the girl could go on. "I think it's just a delayed reaction."

"Pikachu!" said Scabbers cheerfully.

* * *

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er – I don't know any," Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world – " And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. And because Harry soaked up anything new he ever learned about the Wizarding World like a sponge in these early stages, he promptly forgot about it and Wood had to re-teach him everything later on in the book. Because logic.

* * *

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately. This will not apply to pets four years from now; in fact, you will never hear this message again. OOOOOOH IT'S SO MYSTERIOUS."

* * *

Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."

"What did Hogwarts: A History say about the candles not dripping wax everywhere?" asked Dean.

"Fucking magic, idiot," Hermione replied promptly.

* * *

There was a SALLY-ANNE PERKS here. She's gone now.

* * *

"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "a pureblood in fact, but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. And I should say Squib but fuck that."

"Why are none of us asking why you were raised by your gran instead of your parents?" asked Lavender.

"Because I'm rambling on too much in the hope that you won't notice," Neville went on. "Anyway, my great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned, good thing I knew how to fucking swim which has nothing to do with fucking magic – but nothing happened until I was eight, which according to Rita Skeeter is only like a year late anyway so I'm basically fine. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go, like you do when you don't care about your younger relatives too much. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased that they didn't really care that it was obvious child abuse. Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad, which totally made up for nearly killing me that one time."

"And no older students are around to noticed how fucked up your home situation really is and report it to the teachers so they might do something to improve your home life or remove you from these people altogether," said Parvati, "that's nice."

"Ain't it just?"

* * *

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did. Everyone else was busy planning exactly how they were going to sneak into the third-floor corridor to see what all the fuss was about. Because, unless they're a complete goody-goody like Hermione or iheartmwpp, if you tell a child or a teenager not to do something, they will do it. How did Fred and George not find out about Fluffy and/or anything else long before the trio. Hell, there should've been a huge exchange of information between the twins and the trio, the twins are the kind of people who would've tried to break into the third-floor corridor the first night back. They're probably not the only ones, either, why are Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville seemingly the only ones to find out about Fluffy, it's not like he's that hard to get to. And some of the students might've raised hell about Fluffy's condition as well, a massive dog locked up in a cramped room for an entire school year? HOW IS PETA NOT HATIN' ON THIS SERIES.

* * *

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. Aside from the fact that he would have as much knowledge about what a helicopter is as Ron would about what a hang glider is. Meaning they would have no knowledge at all, since they don't bother with anything Muggle ever.

* * *

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "regardless of whether or not you're right handed apparently, and say, 'Up!' Keep in mind that you'll never have to say it again after this lesson."

* * *

"The boy's a natural," said Professor McGonagall. "I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick that you can remember, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, even though Ron had just described Quidditch to him two weeks ago.

* * *

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, which if you go by JKR's latest math was last year. And yet we apparently haven't won in seven years."

"Makes sense to me," reasoned George. "Math's not important anyway, otherwise it would be offered at school or something."

"Good point."

* * *

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower. This is the only entrance to a common room where the way in can leave whenever she wants or just be bitchy about it. For once the other three Houses are given and advantage if they want to sneak about and not get caught, which is kind of nice that Gryffindor doesn't have the best thing EVAR for once.

* * *

"Thank goodness you found me!" said Neville, sounding close to tears. "I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get into the tower. Which is kind of an extraordinarily fucked up system if you think about it."

"You think this is bad," said Harry, "you should see the way into the Ravenclaw common room. If you're not good at riddles then you should just transfer, it's terrible."

* * *

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay — pipe down, Neville!" For Neville had been shrieking and screaming for the last minute. "What?"

Harry turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking at Neville being torn apart by a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering as they drank in the scent of Neville's blood; three drooling mouths with Neville's innards dangling from yellowish fangs as they tore his body in three different directions.

WOULDN'T THAT HAVE BEEN A DELIGHTFUL CHILDREN'S ROMP.

* * *

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the blatant favoritism, Potter. Though she was strangely silent on how she had gone about collecting the funds for it. I'm not entirely sure if she used the school funds or paid out of her own pocket or took the funds out of your vault, since, going by Molly taking money out before your fourth year, it seems like just about anyone can get in whenever they want. And what model is it?

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir."

"A Nimbus Two Thousand?!" Professor Flitwick repeated, gaping at the package and shaking his head slowly. "Well…here's hoping that it didn't come out of the school budget…I'll have to speak to Albus immediately…" He ran off quickly, leaving Harry clutching the long package in his arms and suddenly feeling very nervous and a little guilty.

* * *

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"…Well yes," said Harry.

* * *

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week which is really super tame compared to what it'll become in the future on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive had ever done, although it was odd to see Professor Dumbledore suddenly running around in a panic and muttering to himself something about where "he" was going to go over the summer holidays, but no one really paid him any mind.

* * *

"Prefects," Professor Dumbledore rumbled, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

"Our dormitories are in the dungeons!" cried Slytherin Prefect Gemma Farley.

"…Go anyway."

"See, this is why we're all gonna end up evil, you asshole!"

* * *

Harry made his way down to the staff room and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside – and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. INSERT SLASH FANFIC HERE.

"Did you not here me knock?!" Harry yelled at them while spraying his eyes with bleach.

* * *

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. That should've stopped the jinxing of Harry's broom but apparently it waited until after Hermione set fire to Snape's robes, which really furthered the suspicion that it was Snape who done it.

* * *

"He didn't catch it, he nearly _swallowed_ it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference – Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still shouting the results – Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty, and the staff was doing absolutely nothing to figure out what had happened to Harry's broom. They didn't confiscate Harry's current broom and strip it down to see if it was faulty to begin with, they didn't buy him a new broom altogether, and they certainly didn't launch any kind of investigation to try and figure out who might've jinxed it.

* * *

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was _To Harry, From Hagrid._ Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself for the express purpose of giving them something to combat Fluffy with because seriously, why else would he give Harry a gift like that. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl, which I guess is enough like music to put a three-headed dog to sleep…

* * *

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope which separated these books from the rest of the library, Harry wondered why Hermione didn't distract Madam Pince and Ron kept a lookout while Harry snuck under the rope before Hermione left for Christmas. He supposed that there might've been some kind of enchantment on the rope, but if there was it wasn't exactly letting any kind of alarm off at the moment. He made a mental note of this so they had a way in, Cloak or no, in the school years to come.

* * *

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor, that seemed identical to all of the other suits of armor that were spread around the castle according to the video games and the movies both so this really wasn't much of a landmark after all. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, because he knew where the kitchens were three years before he actually found out where the kitchens were, but he must be five floors above there. So on the fifth floor, basically.

* * *

It looked like a disused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls and there was an upturned waste-paper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that really should've been through the trapdoor on the third floor so it could hide the Stone from Voldemort, which is the entire point of it so what is it doing here? Insert the Dumbledore Is The Chessmaster Behind Everything Theory here.

* * *

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he was six hundred and sixty-six at the time of this really old book's publication, is he?"

* * *

Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the changing rooms next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering why this particular Quidditch game was the only one that took place in the afternoon instead of that morning. He figured that it was because he needed to eavesdrop on Snape and Quirrell when it was dark, and apparently around this time it gets dark in Scotland ridiculously early or something. So basically it was held in the afternoon because the plot said so.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried. Ron and Hermione, in turn, couldn't understand why Neville was so surprised that they had brought their wands to the match, since wizards should really keep their wands on them at all times.

"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

"I know," Ron snapped, "I'm just hoping that the broom doesn't break when Snape's legs snap together and make him plummet to his death. Dumbledore's here this time, hopefully he'll stop it, and hopefully there's not a school-wide investigation to find out who done it, there wasn't last time so…"

"Don't worry," Hermione reassured him. "Even if we get caught we'll only get a slap on the wrist because attempted murder is never an expellable offense at Hogwarts, and blatant favoritism is always totally okay as long as it's in our favor."

"Good point, my bad."

* * *

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.

Ron snapped. All his preparations for the Leg-Locker Curse flew out of his head, as did the idea of using his wand at all. IT WAS TIME TO PUNCH MALFOY IN THE FACE. Although he was a bit weirded out that Hermione didn't notice anything.

* * *

_Dear Ron,_

_WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, WRITING THAT KIND OF THING IN A LETTER, WHAT IF IT HAD BEEN INTERCEPTED YOU FUCKING MORON. Also none of us want to jeopardize our jobs over this, you're on your own._

_Love,_  
_Charlie_

* * *

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely.

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as though teddy was having his head torn off. He desperately hoped that this wasn't foreshadowing the fate of his godson. You're welcome for the plot bunny.

* * *

"I'm disgusted," said McGonagall. "Four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! I don't think I've ever lied to you so blatantly before either, since maybe the Marauders were good but they couldn't have always been _that_ good, I mean honestly…Anyway, all three of you will receive detentions — yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous, I say without actually saying how it's more dangerous than before or will be later — and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."

"Fifty?" Harry gasped. "But you only took twenty from Malfoy!"

"Fifty points _each_," said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long pointed nose.

"…Look, I get that you think me and Hermione were up to no good, but Neville wasn't doing anything wrong! He should only get twenty points off as well!"

"My decision is final, Mr. Potter."

"Oh, of course it is," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "We'll probably get away with crucifixion for out first offence, is that it? You're never this harsh again, you don't even take any points for breaking Wizarding laws next year!"

"Don't you lecture me, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."

"Sirius Black, former Gryffindor, tried to _kill a fellow student!"_ Harry exploded. "How was he punished, twenty-five points off and a month of lines?!"

"…Maybe…"

Harry got up and slammed his head into the wall until he passed out.

* * *

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him because Hufflepuff isn't actually about loyalty at all and neither of the other houses gave a damn about their own house points anymore, because that's what you want to teach your kids: if there's no way to win, don't even bother trying.

* * *

"But this is servant stuff," said Malfoy, "it's not for students to do. I though we'd be writing lines or cleaning the trophy room or something. If my father knew I was doing this, he'd—"

"—freak out an' demand that ev'ryone involved in forming this detention be sacked immediately fer this extremely irregular an' unnecessarily harsh punishment, I know," said Hagrid, "but we need ter do this ter move the plot forward, so I'm sorry, but we gotta get this over with an' then never be this ruthless again."

* * *

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless—"

"Um, I'm sorry to interrupt, but defenseless?" Harry cut in, staring at Firenze incredulously. "It's got a horn on its head and Hagrid just told me they're really fast and it could probably kick people to death just like regular horses _and it's got a horn on its head._ Which it could use to, you know, _impale people with."_

* * *

Professor McGonagall eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone and I am certainly not going to ask you. Nor am I in any way worried that if you, three ignorant first years, could figure it out, then the whole school probably knows by now. But rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected, unless of course you have someone really smart, a good flyer, a good chess player, and someone with the skills to take on a fully-grown mountain troll, and really, what are the odds of a person or group of people like that existing ever?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all slapped themselves. Hard.

* * *

…How did Neville get un-petrified? Did the spell eventually wear off or did an older student have to take it off the next day after they tripped over him?

* * *

"They're not birds!" said Harry suddenly, "they're keys! Winged keys – look carefully. So that must mean…" he looked around the chamber while the other two squinted at the flocks of keys. "…Yes – look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

"Wait a minute," said Hermione. "If they really didn't want the Stone to be taken, why even put in any broomsticks? Just charm the keys not to be Summoned, and the most anyone would've been able to do is stand around, wait for the right one to fly near them, and hope they can catch it. Then no one would've been able to get to the Stone, meaning it would've been safe from You-Know-Who."

"The teachers are morons," Ron concluded sagely.

* * *

"Well," Ron began, "Harry, you take the place of that bishop, even though I really want you to survive because you're probably the only one who can stop Snape so I should be putting you as the king, and Hermione, you go there instead of that castle, though I should really make you queen so, again, you'll have less of a chance of dying horribly because everyone protects their queen like whoa, but I suppose that also applies to castles so whatever."

"What about you?" asked Harry.

"I'm going to be a knight, which isn't too bad, but really I think I should've gone with the other castle or the queen or even the king, since I should probably stay conscious so I can make moves and things. Alas, I am the dumb. Also earwax."

* * *

The UK version has Ron say, 'I'll make my move and she'll take me.' The US version has Ron say, "I take one step forward and she'll take me." Knights move in L-shapes and can never just go one square forward. I spent over ten years thinking that JKR didn't know how to play chess, when it turns out that whoever translated it from British to American at Scholastic was the one who didn't know how to play chess.

* * *

Harry's mind was racing.

_What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment,_ he thought, _even more than being with my parents again because that totally makes sense, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. Yep. Want a rock more than I want my parents. Sounds legit._

* * *

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. All the student population knew was that a teacher was dead and that Harry Potter had been involved. Shockingly, no one was deathly afraid of him because of this.

* * *

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends that're still alive an' not evil, askin' fer photos…Knew yeh didn' have any…D'yeh like it?"

"I love it, Hagrid," said Harry reverently. "Do you think you could tell me who these old friends are, so I can get in touch with them and ask them questions about my parents?"

"O'course! There's this one bloke, friend o' yer dad's, named Remus Lupin…"

* * *

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account, events that I totally could've awarded points for earlier so I could avoid alienating an entire fourth of the school by showing extremely blatant favoritism toward my own old house."

"Again with you wondering why we have a tendency to turn against you," muttered the Slytherins, scowling.

* * *

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much…a great deal more, really, to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom, because somehow I found out about that."

* * *

"Hope you have – er – a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant and yet not putting two and two together like she usually does.

"Oh, I will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home…Except that Aunt Petunia probably totally does because of Mum, right, that plan failed…"

* * *

_A/N: But seriously though, the seventh and final parody's gonna start going up on the twenty-first. :3_

**_Review or you'll be sent to the Forbidden Forest in a massive overreaction that'll never be that horrible again._**


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